Coming Soon: A New Blog with an Intersting New Concept:

The High School Mascot

I am working on a new blog called
The East Lakehills Gazette

A fictional newspaper of my creation. First edition by April 1, 2011.

Coming Soon: An Almost ghost story!

GoD And DoG by Wendy J Francisco A happy little tune about the Almighty and our canine pals!

Favorite quote of the day

From The Social Network:
"I want to tell you something important. You will go through life thinking women don't like you because you're a nerd. That's not it; they don't like you because you're an a**hole."

personal note, nerds are fine, jerks not so much.

I like Candy!

I love atomic warheads candy though if I eat more than three or four, they burn my taste buds. Oh well, that is how you can tell they are quality goodI don't care what anyone else says, I like Werther's candy.  I know that it is widely believed that only senior citizens like Werthers. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm just old; after all AARP started sending me information as soon as I turned 35. Maybe they figure they should get me early while I still have most of my wits about me.

Hello

Hi everyone:
Please feel free to leave a comment even if it's just to say hello. Later this month, I will start me new blog (this one will remain,) Have a great week everyone!
-katie

Funny clip!

Amateur Shrink of the Day

  You would think that finding out that the guy who seemed perfect and then dumped you suddenly is mentally ill would make things seem a bit better. It wasn't your fault, he was just hypomanic and every year around October, seasonal affective disorder kicks in and boom there goes the depression. It doesn't make me feel much better, but just kind of sad.  I wondered for a long time how my judgment could have been so horribly wrong; I can usually spot a jerk from twenty yards away.  It is more difficult though when the jerk basically behaves as two different people depending upon the weather. (To make things easier, let's give the guy a name. How about Mr. Y.?) Looking back, I can see some smaller episodes; Y would break down into  sudden crying jags or sport generally pissy mood swings followed by incredible periods of maudlin self-pity which would disappear within hours and then he'd suggest caterers for our wedding reception.

  Here's the scoop: falling in love looks pretty similar to a hypomanic episode. First of all, the idea that you have beaten the odds and found a great person who feels the same as you do makes a girl feel like she's won the lottery. It doesn't seem so strange that he discusses marriage and children after six weeks because you are both so happy and there is no reason to wait around. Right?  Try to remember that period when you first fall in love, don't you feel indestructible? As though you could conquer the world with only a gesture? As though God him (or her) self has turned the sun's warmth towards you after a very long metaphorical winter? Nope, it turns out that the guy you are dating is just crazy. He's done the same thing before and he'll do it again. 
(edit) I wouldn't be at all surprised if he had some new great love. After all, it was a pretty mild winter. (edit) A friend of a friend has told me that he has a new victim for this year. Again, she is the one etc. You would think by age 39, that this guy would understand destructive patterns. Yeesh.

The only thing he does differently is find women with different coloring; it's like his own Benneton poster of multi-cultural women. (As if changing cultures will cure mental illness and a -holishness).My guess would be that he's trying to hook up with an East Indian or someone from the Middle East. Oh and he'll dig them more if they're virgins and then insult them because of their beliefs. If you know a single woman doctor that is dating a guy whose chief claim to fame is being able to Charleston, you may want to give her a heads up. I sure as hell wish someone would have done so for me. When I met his family, it was as though they wanted to tell me something, but they couldn't. I understand the whole thing now. I wonder what they'll do with the new victim?
He also has a thing for doctors which again is ironic because if they have been in an elementary psych rotation, she should be able to spot it.

J

J

J

 Though all of us have been guilty of being in love with the idea of love at some point, we usually figure out the difference between the real thing and the concept pretty early on. The best lie is one you believe yourself and I, for one was fooled. I'm not alone in this at least, and again, that should make me feel better about my ability to figure people out. But, it doesn't: instead I just feel horrible for whoever Miss Y 2011, 2012, and so on will be. s and Miss Y 2006-9 were.  I wish sometimes that people had a holographic billboard that flashes "warning! There should be a scarlet letter J for jerk tattooed on the forehead of  (male and female) people who flat-out should not date, (or at least not until they get some issues squared away.)

 Crazy does not give you the right to be an ahole.
The problem remains that if I say that Y was a jerk, I seem insensitive to his illness. And if I chalk it up to mania, he ends up possessing no free will; and I don't think this is the case. Maybe he just now figured out that he has it and has not yet made the fairly simple deduction that he does the same destructive mating dance every spring and the same train wreck every fall. Before you deem me a monster though, read this.

·  . A few months ago, he wrote me a note telling me that he was taking a particular psych medicine. I looked it up and found out that it can only be prescribed if at least one other medicine for bipolar disorder has been tried and did not work. Therefore, he was aware of this problem and did not tell me, or any of the other Miss Ys for that matter. That omission left all of us wondering what we did wrong and why we didn't spot his obvious issues. How a person could go from wanting to marrying you and planning the reception for the next Spring to coldly slapping labels like, "needy, cold, talkative, too shy, too sheltered, or jaded," on us IF we can cook and want a family, we are ignorant peasants and if we are smart, we are cold and ugly. 

And in the grand tradition of self-unaware cookware everywhere, dubbing us as depressed or confused as to where the relationship was going.  In other words, Y could have gone out with Miss America 2003 who has her PhD in quantum physics and a masters in medieval Islamic poetry, is a chef, still competes in gymnastics, earns a million dollars a year, runs three charities to help the poorest and sickest people, likes animals and children, wants nothing from him except occasional sex and an intellectual conversation, (after which she'll go and sleep in her own bed,), and who agrees with him about everything, would still not be good enough. Her teeth would be too perfect or she wouldn't spend enough or did spend too much time with him. I thought the crazy notice would make me feel better and I am disturbed to find some real resentment and anger building up. Here's the deal: having an illness, be it diabetes, depression, or the flu, does not give a person the right to be a jerk or toy with other people's time and affection.  Being horrid knows no boundaries of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, religion, age, health, mental state, or season. The whole situation becomes even worse because it is possible that Y is so self-deluded that he believes the tripe he spews and still hasn't made the connection between his disorder and what he decries as his, "miserable luck finding the right woman,” because as he says, "they just aren't good enough."  Following this theory to its logical end means that statistically some people with bipolar disorder will be aholes. So will some clowns, some people who love to eat Doritos, some people with narrow feet, and etc.  I'm left unable to do anything with this new information. I feel it's my duty to the single female community, but trying to tell him about it would not only be futile, but also embarrassing. He would definitely interpret such a conversation as the workings of a desperate woman who cannot get over no longer being near his glowing perfection. And, he'd still be no closer to understanding or trying to change. As a thoroughly imperfect human being myself, I know how difficult it can be to change when the problem is clear.
To fumble around for the greater part of a decade in a kind of sisyphusian romantic loop is punishment enough. Still, I'll be honest, after reading some of the posts he wrote about me and the other Miss Y's of years past; I think I would be entirely justified in slapping him in the face just once. One slap for all of the decent women he strung along and left bewildered and wondering if they were crazy. One. Really hard. Slap!

  MENTAL ILLNESS AND STIGMA

  I wouldn't wish any kind of illness on anyone, but mental illnesses seem to me to be a special kind of hell. First of all, there is still a social stigma towards those who suffer. Though people rarely ever say so aloud, I think many still believe that the person dealing with a mental illness is somehow morally less capable.  One of the last bastions of socially acceptable prejudice is calling someone crazy. That word alone means that anything he or she says or anything he or she does can be discounted and ignored. No further argument is needed; just say crazy. After dealing with chronic pain for a decade, I have run into this line of thinking too. It is impossible to know precisely what another person's mental or physical pain feels like. So, when someone tells me they are in pain, I believe them and take them seriously. People can understand pain if the cause is obvious; let's say you have a broken leg and have orthopedic pins sticking out of it. That would be clearly painful right? You wouldn't tell the patient to toughen up and to work harder would you?  Still people see mental illness not as a complex mixture of circumstance, behavior and brain chemistry but rather as a moral weakness or perhaps a sign of not having the grace of God on your side and the sick don't.  It is easier to judge and label than to understand. Perhaps this stigma was so great that Y never tells women he falls for; he assumes that they will run. To be fair, many would. I think I would have. I looked up the medicine he said he was taking online and it is only prescribed after other bipolar meds have failed. That says he knew about it and chose not to take his meds. Every spring, he'll convince himself that he has changed through some series of exercise, diet, WoW, and talking to other dregs of society online and his profile will boast about his intelligence and gentlemanly ways. He will claim to love children and animals and his desire to find the one and get married. And the world is just lonely enough, that a few women will respond. He becomes a poisonous flower, blooming every spring and as it dies in the fall, it drags the whole garden down with it.

Looking into my crystal ball, I can see him repeating the same thing for many years. Finally, no women will go out with him because the word has gotten around and let's face it a 40 year old guy who still wants to date 25 year olds, that's creepy.  On that warm summer day, when he sits alone at the park and sees one of his summer women happily married and pushing a stroller, it will come to him that even though the mania may  difficult to control; his treatment of women was not. And as he goes home to a tiny condo with sparse furnishings except for the cold ghostly blue gray light from his computer, he will sit down and weep. And after a few minutes, he'll reactivate his account on every online dating site believing that women will flock to him and if they don't that he's too sexy for his cat and shirt anyway. He'll go on believing that in the past he has just had bad luck... believing that an inordinately large percentage of substandard females was sent his way over the years. He'll hit 40 and then 45, the paunch will become more substantial, being called long-term single and socially awkward will turn to the phrase weird hermit old guy. All I can hope is that in the coming years, his family or few friends who have seen this cruel pattern repeated will give the next girl a head's up.  And yet, he is still confident about finding the one. I guess he has one thing on me, either a great reserve of hope, or a great reserve of powerful delusion.

 

  "Hypomania, a less severe form of mania. People in a hypomanic episode may feel very upbeat, energetic and productive. To others they may just seem to be in a really good mood. This state usually can't be maintained for long. It either escalates into mania or crashes into depression. Seasonal Affective Disorder: A mood disorder often associated with depression. Can also be a symptom of bipolar disorder I. The patient will cycle in a hypomanic episode during the warmer months. This behavior may seem like confidence, happiness, or enthusiasm to others, but it is indeed hypomania. Patients repeat the same cycle every year as the seasons change. " (Wikepedia, Bipolar I and SAD)

Mysterious Sounds

It was the couple's first trip out of town together. Maggie was extremely nervous about meeting his family and wanted to make a great impression. Elliot didn't really like his family, but his sister and brother in-law were new parents and this would be his first time seeing his niece. Maggie knew that at least she could always be polite and offer to help with various chores. When they arrived in Eastern Washington, Elliot's mother had set up a huge tent for them in the back near the river with a big air mattress, pillows, and even a removable top flap to look at the stars.
There isn't much to do in the country except talk,play boardgames and eat. Maggie brought her laptop along to finish some research for class, but she didn't get much done. The new baby was adorable if a bit fussy. The new parents had no experience with infants and when Maggie offered to put the baby in a sling and walk around, they were amazed at the result. As she brushed her teeth before bed, Maggie heard the whole family telling Elliot what a great woman she was. She let out a relieved sigh; at least that bit was fine.
The only  slightly negative thing to be said about Elliot's mother was the small portions of food she offered. Elliot's sister was a vegetarian and Maggie couldn't eat pork, so the evening meal of hot dogs and fruit salad didn't prove to be very filling. About midnight, Elliot and Maggie went to the tent to sleep. They joked and listened to the raccoons across the river fighting.
He leaned over to kiss her and suddenly, they both heard a loud dangerous low pitched growl that sounded very close. Though raccoons look fairly  harmless, they can inflict real damage with their claws and teeth even slicing through a tent.
He grabbed the flashlight, turned rapidly to her and said, "Stay here, I'll check it out!"
She started laughing uncontrolably.
"don't panic, I'll figure this out," he said gllantly.
"No, no, it was my stomach."

They were both amazed that something that small could make such a ferocious sound and they laughed for a good ten minutes until a light went on in the house.

Coming soon:The Bride Not-to-Be

Coming Soon, the unusual request

The Prom Date

The Prom Date

I went to the prom the first time when I was a junior in high school. A friend from orchestra asked me to go with him and I said sure. It would be the first time I ever wore a formal dress. Though I had only two week’s notice, I found a cute teal green strapless dress with a full skirt that went well with my hair and complexion. More people went with friends than with romantic interests and so it seemed fine. Two days before the prom, I went to the beach and fell asleep in an awkward position. Wearing a short sleeved shirt shielded some of my arms and my positioning meant that about half of my legs were spared. The rest of me was lobster red and beginning to blister. Even my neck and collarbones were bright red. Even the softest t-shirt felt like sandpaper. I only understood the extent of the damage when I tried my dress. My upper half looked like a candy cane that burned and caused red sugar bubbles everywhere and my upper arms were bright white.  I got out the aloe, soaked I milk baths, took aspirin, prayed, but the burn’s only response was to peel in large sheets the evening of the prom. I contemplated exfoliating but as soon as the soap toughed my skin, I yelped, doused myself with Bactine and aloe, and then hoped that the room would be dark.

The day of the prom, I was no longer in pain, but the peeling became worse and worse as did the itching.  I tried a pair of opera gloves to hide the burn, but they looked strange on a sixteen year old. I hoped that at least my black nylons would cover up my legs which still radiated a red-orange heat. After fixing my hair and applying perfect makeup, my date finally showed up.

I heard a horn and looked out the window. My date Mark sat in his car impatiently and I went out. As I stepped in, I noticed him applying a thick greasy layer of Vaseline to his lips. For some reason, the front of his hair was curled into a combination of feathers or a swoop. Instead of wearing a tuxedo, he chose the orchestra uniform. I coughed as the sharp scent of Drakon Noir filled the car and rolled down a window. My nose burned and my tastebuds didn't adjust for three days later.

“You look nice, “he said.

“Thanks, you too,” I replied.

“Ok, so we’re going to a restaurant, but don’t order anything expensive and don’t ask for anything to drink,” he said loudly.

“Ok,” I said. It should be noted that I have never been the kind of date who orders the expensive items from the menu. In fact, I usually order the cheapest or second cheapest thing there and water. I chalked his behavior up to nerves and watched the road.

We ate at a nice seafood restaurant overlooking Lake Washington and as I ordered the small Cesar salad, I noticed him looking intently across the room. A few feet away, I spotted a girl wearing a bright pink dress and her date, a male friend from class.  Mark stared at her the whole time we ate. Every few minutes, he reapplied a coat of vaseline to his lips and they glistened like a cold porkchop.  He quickly reached for my hand to try to hold it. I was taken by surprise and didn’t remove it until a few seconds later.

“Right, I shouldn’t hold your hand because I don’t want anyone thinking we’re together,” he snapped and then sulked off to the men’s room.

I considered trying to escape out the bathroom window or just bolting out the door and calling a cab The allure of the potential glamor of a prom, even with a weird date, was just too strong. So, I stayed.

We arrived fairly early and I was glad to see several people I knew from orchestra or classes. One of my cousins was even there with his girlfriend.  Mark ran his hands through his hair and then disappeared. I sat at the table alone until a friend asked me to dance.

While we danced, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the arrival of the sexiest girl in the senior class. She looked like a blond Jessica Rabbit in a fitted red dress and measurements that are almost impossible to attain naturally. She was accompanied by her 6’3 boyfriend, a marine whose neck was as big around as my waist.  As we danced, I plead my case to my friend.

“Since you guys are going to Denny’s could you drop me off at the bus stop? It’s on your way?”

He agreed but I still had to wait a few hours to get out of there.  I talked with some friends and danced as well. The girl with the pink dress sat one out and her date asked me to dance. We had known each other since the second grade and were both there as, “just friends.”

“Didn’t you know that Mark and Patty were together for almost a year?” he asked as we danced.

“Patty, your date?”

“Exactly. That’s why she asked me, she didn’t want to go alone, but didn’t want to miss it either.”

We looked over to Patty’s table. Mark stood very close to her trying to look every bit the sophisticate, his jacket carelessly tossed over his shoulder and green cummerbund riding up to his skinny chest.  She looked horrified and it seemed like her eyes were blinking SOS. My friend came to her rescue in seconds.. Mark returned to our table and started talking to me.

“You know, “he said taking out his Chapstick again, “my mom gave me a condom for tonight.” He leaned in and I contorted my neck to miss him, but still I felt those greasy lips brush against my cheek and I think I felt the flick of a wet and slimy tongue on my neck. It gave me shivers and not the good kind. “I’m going to get some punch, be right back,” he said. abruptly. As he stalked away, he tossed his jacket over his right shoulder his cummberbund climbed up the crazy staircase of his thin ribs and settled at a jaunty angle; half up, half down.

I looked around the room, trying to figure out how to escape unseen. Glancing at the punchbowl, I saw Mark chatting up the red dress beauty. She looked at him in disgust and ignored him. He tugged on her dress and across the dance floor, her befriend took a nearly vertical leap at Mark. Before any violence occurred, Mark put up his hands in a, “my bad,” kind of gesture and sneaked away to another corner of the room.  My sunburn was itching like crazy and the night wasn’t getting any better. I thanked the friend who offered me a ride and started towards the door. The last thing I saw, Mark was enthusiastically doing the Electric Slide by himself; the other dancers had parted like the Red Sea .Either didn’t notice or he didn’t care.

Even a senior prom was not worth that kind of hassle and humiliation. It was early June and the cool summer air felt wonderful on my skin. The sun was not quite down and I noticed the streetlights start to flicker to life. After a few blocks, I found a bus stop and luckily a bus pulled up a few minutes later. As I stepped on board the crinolines and taffeta rustled and woke sleeping passengers. Looking out the window, I noticed rented limos lining the road with half-drunk girls whooping out of the sun roof. Adjusting my dress, I tried to blend in and rode home.

Technology rant!

googleimages

After reading that a Facebook user can not play games unless he or she gives up more of their privacy by opting to go with http instead of https, I've vowed to stop playing Farmville. Growing fake crops and trees just isn't as interesting as it once seemed. Why on earth did it seem interesting in the first place?  Facebook puts up old people's ads for me and I'm beginning not to like it. To cement this notion of having my privacy sold out, I learned last week that some one tried to hack into my Facebook and yahoo accounts. My cousin Heidi alerted me to the fact that about a week ago, Facebook decided to display people's phone numbers without telling users about it. Because, you can never get enough telemarketers at 5AM.
Early this morning, I read an e-mail from a high school friend claiming he and his wife were stuck in England and they were robbed, send money. Anyone who knows me at all knows I don't have money. geesh, what a bad con -artist this person must be.. Keep in mind that I haven't talked to this guy in over 15 years and the fact that he only makes a teacher's salary and the whole situation is very fishy.
I sometimes wonder who exactly gets up in the morning and says to him or herself, "I'm going to monkey with other people's computers." I understand that sometimes there is a profit to be made, but  I don't understand the purpose of computer viruses. Are these people trying to make a statement? Is it some kind of revenge for not going to the prom in high school?  The very existence of these nae'r do-wells makes life more difficult for everyone. I have to change my Western password ever few weeks and they won't let me do a predictable pattern like" abc!this is my password" .If I forgot my new password in this instance, I could just try defthisismypassword and so on. Between setting up a webpage, blog, school addresses and problems on yahoo, I've had to change  passwords at least twelve times in as many weeks. The number of passwords I need to get into different web sites is even more varied. I suppose  I could keep a list of them on my computer, but that would defeat my purpose.
I like technology for the most part, but I find that I am far too reliant on it. If my printer breaks,, if I forget to save something the right way , if I can't connect to the web, if I can't find answers to complex questions simply by typing the words into google, or if things move to slowly, I become livid and frustrated.
Sometimes, and I do mean only sometimes, becoming a Luddite doesn't look so terrible after all.

Not to be Counfused with

I posted this before, but it disappeared. So again:
I googled myself the other day to see if I could find the blog. Instead, I found another Katherine Margeson who has a blog. She seems pretty cool but has many naked pics up. Just FYI, no, that's not me.  Burlesque isn't my thing.

I'm Not Crying - Flight Of The Conchords: I'm making a lasagna ...for one.

Hello International Readers

Hello international readers.  The translations may not be exact because I used google translate. Still, you will probably get the gist of what I'm trying to say.

China 您好，如果您喜欢这个博客，请留下评论，告诉您的朋友。如果你不喜欢，请随时给自己。                                                
England: Hello, if you like this blog, please leave a comment and tell a friend. If you don't like it, please keep it to yourself. 

Finland: Hei, jos pidät tätä blogia, jätä kommentti ja kerro kavereillesi. Jos et pidä siitä, pidä se itse.
France and Canada: Bonjour, si vous aimez ce blog, s'il vous plaît laissez un commentaire et dites à vos amis. Si vous ne l'aimeront pas, s'il vous plaît gardez pas pour vous.
Germany: Hallo, wenn Sie dieses Blog gefällt, lassen Sie einen Kommentar und erzählen Sie Ihren Freunden. Wenn Sie nicht mögen, bitte halten Sie es für sich.

Japan:  こんにちは、このブログが好きなら、コメントを残してくださいとあなたの友人を教えてください。あなたがそれを好きではないする場合は、自分自身にそれを保管してください。

Malay: Halo, jika anda suka blog ini, sila tinggalkan komen dan memberitahu rakan-rakan anda. Jika anda tidak akan menyukainya, sila simpan untuk diri sendiri. 

Phillipines: Hello, kung gusto mo ang blog na ito, mangyaring mag-iwan ng puna at sabihin sa iyong mga kaibigan. Kung hindi mo gusto ito, mangyaring panatilihin ito sa iyong sarili.

Portugal and Brazil: Hola, si te gusta este blog, por favor deje un comentario y dile a tus amigos. Si no le va a gustar, por favor mantenga a sí mismo. 

Russia: Здравствуйте, если вам нравится этот блог, пожалуйста, оставьте комментарий, и рассказать своим друзьям. Если вы не будете, как его, пожалуйста, сохранить его для себя.

Spain, Mexico, South America: Hola, si te gusta este blog, por favor deje un comentario y dile a tus amigos. Si no le va a gustar, por favor mantenga a sí mismo.

United Arab Emirates, Iran, and Morocco,  مرحبا، إذا كنت مثل هذا بلوق ، يرجى ترك التعليق وأخبر أصدقائك. إذا كنت لن ترغب في ذلك، يرجى الاحتفاظ بها لنفسك.

I'm Too Sexy For...

 

 

 

googleimages

A dramatic reading of a real break-up letter

http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

Nostalgia for a Time that Never Really Was

I know it dates me, but I love watching the re-runs of Almost Live after SNL  It makes me nostalgic for the era when there were fewer strip malls, arrogant microserfs and ironic hipsters. It was just Seattle, the place all fictional characters go when they have to move.When only three blocks from my childhood home, stood a forest rumored to have bears walking around.  It reminds me other Center with the bubble elevator and the Fun Forest, the ornate displays outside of Fredrick and Nelsons. A time when Ballard really was made up of Scandinavians, Renton was a working class semi-hick town, when working people could afford a house near the University district which now would cost at least half a million.  I remember when traffic jams in  Woodinville were rare. Now every neighborhood looks roughly the same and despite the huge number of choices we can make, most people choose to be similar to one another. Everyone has the same cars, same three or four different styles of clothing and hair. I even had a teacher who kept sheep just off of what is now a main intersection of 405. I remember when nights were silent except for frogs and crickets or rain. Now, I can hear traffic from the main road twenty two out of twenty-four hours a day.I miss that space, the quiet, the different neighborhoods good or bad.  I drive down roads which used to have a grocery and maybe a feed store or burger stand and they are wall to wall nail salons, and chain stores. Now, this part of the world is just like anywhere else really.

Single Heterosexual Men Age 30-40 in Greater Seattle Area (a Chart)

Based only on my observations

The Adultolescent

The Adultolescent AKA the Man-child:  His photos have one common theme, red solo cups and raised arms either in a bar or standing by expensive car. This species is split into two sections: adultolescents who have never married and those who are divorced. For some reason, this species suffers from Peter Pan syndrome and has decided that he should live like he wanted to when he was 21 This species is  often still trying to get their grunge band a record deal. He wears short pants, t-shirts with holes in them, and is sporting at least two huge tattoos. Claiming that he needs to find himself, he behaves like an angsty twenty- year- old. He usually lives in a loft or a basement of a friend or relative's house. His abode is sparse and usually only contains a bed, desk and computer. It is usually quite similar to a freshman's dorm room in appearance.
Typical Pick up Line
 " I usually date women much younger than me. I'm a
renaissance man really. I'm dropping out of clown college tomorrow and I think I'll learn how to be a physical therapist. Either that or maybe go to bartending school, or maybe open my own guitar manufacturing business, or flip houses.I'm going through, you know an existential crisis.  I went to the best party the other night and then I came home, ate a frozen pizza and played second life drunk all night. My roommate has the best hookup for weed Besides, I only want something casual, you know Friends with benefits. So, are you a "real," redhead. (Snicker)."

The Grumpy Old Man

http://www.icanhazcheezburger.com

The Grumpy Old Man: The Grumpy Old man is similar to the Self-Proclaimed -Genius except he often has the academic background to partially back it up. Usually in his late thirties or early 40s, he is often mistaken as being his date's  father.  His affectations include saying Tuesday as teeoosday whereas in the NW we say it more like “twosday.” Though he may possess a fine academic mind, his interpersonal skills are appallingly bad. In a similar nuniform to that of an 80 year-old English sheep farmer from the 19^th century, all wool cap and patches on the elbows of his jacket, he will talk about his problems with bowel regularity or how teenagers are scandalous
Though he doesn’t know anything about even the most basic pop culture or news, he is well read on his area of expertise which he will talk about for at least two hours. Guilty of putting women on a pedestal, he can be brutal;y cruel when they do not match is expectations exactly.He looks down upon women who can cook or who think marriage and having a family can be a good idea. He calls such women Plebes.
Typical Pick up line:
Him: I don’t’ like television or modern music or most books or people. I only like bee bop jazz, vegan food, and tap water, much younger women who are beautiful and geniuses.. My attitudes are very European in that sense. ”

The Amateur Pick up Artist

The Amateur Pick up Artist: A man has taken a class or read a book on how to pick up women, use them, and discard them. Often he is a misogynist, and a misanthrope at the same time. Think about the audience for the Tom Cruise character in Magnolia and you won’t be far off. Often the pickup artist married young and has been divorced for a few years. His game hasn’t evolved since high school and neither has his personality. He can be distinguished from other men by peacocking which usually means he wears a weird hat, a  feather boa, or a slightly naughty belt buckle to draw the eye to the groin region. To seem even more alternative, he often paints his nails black. This species appears especially slimy and is guilty of invading other people's olfactory space by dousing himself in Axe body spray.Unlike the locust who at least thinks he is being honest, the APA is a ruthless jerk with some deep seeded issues about women.
Typical Pickup Line
“You’re kind of attractive I guess and probably somewhat intelligent, but what else do you have going for you? I don’t think you’re good enough for me.” (All said while playing with a feather boa or  adjusting a ridiculous hat.)

The Self-Proclaimed Genius

The Self-Proclaimed Genius: This species is made up almost entirely of computer techs that make more than I ever will after earning a one year degree. His insecurity about the lack of formal education and the need to always be right leads him to pronounce psychiatric diagnosis on people he has just met. He must be the authority on everything.  To be happy, he must be seen doing these scholarly things. He writes his profile partly in Haiku or discusses why he doesn’t believe in TV. (It still believes in you though SPG!). The SPG has many affectations, but the most frequent, is the use of the phrase, “well I read a study,” when ever someone questions him. 
 Anyone who disagrees with him isto be pitied and reviled for their ignorance of such important topics as locking a car door once inside. He believes himself to be a sage council. His uniform usually consists of concert or event t-shirts, sock shoes for everyday where, and one pair of jeans. Often a serious game player, he spends most of his free time either talking to online friends or playing WoW.
A typical pickup line:

"I see that you are working on your masters. I have a year of college, but I taught myself everything I need to now and I can more than hold my own with Ph.ds in any subject. Well, teaching though, that's not really an academic area; it's more of craft like woodworking or a trade like plumbing. It looks pretty easy and you know what they say, those that can, do, those that can't teach. Did you notice that my profile was written in the form of a sonnet? I like to study political theory, economics, and game theory… (Long pause,) for fun. (this statement is supposed to awe the female but typically it leaves her wanting to laugh.) You have a cat; I have two feline lap seeking missiles. Wink. I don't think you're smart enough for me, but I suppose I could try and tutor you because let's face it, you are pretty hawt.”

the Inquisitor

The Inquisitor:  Often this species is just nervous and because the whole chat scenario does feel a bit like a job interview, one cuts the inquisitor a bit more slack at first.  Many Inquisitors end up being perfectly nice normal men.
typical Pick up line:
Where did you go to school, what you mean by social justice, what is your ideal partner like? Do you like Korean food, how tall are you? Oh, and is it true what they say about redheads? It must be great to be able to see in the dark and land on your feet whenever you fall, that must be good to have."
Female: “No, that would be a cat. Here are some answers to your questions”